


Kaishakunin

by Elemental_Fantasy_13



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6671917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elemental_Fantasy_13/pseuds/Elemental_Fantasy_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America goes in search of Japan, pulling him out of the wrecked Tokyo after four long years of war. As much as he hates what he had to do, extreme measures were needed to make it end. Japan himself asked him, in the end. Country AU, post WW II.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kaishakunin

    America pulled his helmet farther down, covering his face as another patrol marched by. Once they were passed he glanced up and down the wrecked street, slowly stepping out of the ally, moving farther into the city. The once proud Tokyo was in ruin, the torn streets full of wreckage and haggard survivors alike, patrolled by the few remaining grim faced soldiers.

    This was not one of his cities, but it still broke his heart to see it like this. What made it worse was that this was his own doing. America didn't know a single country that enjoyed war. How could they? They could only make the best of it, put on a brave face and lead their people as best they could. It was all they _could_ do.

    His Civil Wars had been the worst America had faced. He wasn't the first country to have one, but his had been particularly brutal. So much blood, so much hate, so many citizens dead. They were some of his first scars, the ones every country had. They still ached at night, when his people were in a particularly hard battle somewhere in the world. Until recently, the pain had bordered on unbearable for days, weeks. Now they had settled to a dull throb, both a blessing and a curse. It was a relief, knowing things were on the upslope, that they had finally won and it was all over. Others had suffered longer, yes, but he was still young yet.

    “Come on, buddy, where are you?” he muttered, wading through the rubble. He wasn't sure how long he had before his boss tracked him down, ordered him back home. America shouldn't be here, knew he shouldn't, but he had to be. He just had to.

    Italy had fallen first, which hadn't been a surprise. First Romano, then North Italy. Germany’s boss had shot himself within days of this. America knew it was bad enough enduring a war when you knew you were the hero, but how horrible was it to fight when your own people hated it? They were the personifications of the people, not the government. It was why both Germany and Prussia had worked as double agents were they could, why Austria had helped smuggle Italy’s precious art away from Nazi hands and hidden fugitives under his house. It had stunned them all when they found the concentration camps, finally revealing why they felt thousands upon thousands of citizens dying so quickly. America was glad he hadn't been around the German brothers when the extent of the Nazi secrets were uncovered. It was a true testament to the monstrosity of Germany’s boss that he'd gone to such lengths to keep them from Germany and Prussia. He had to know they would have stopped them. There was only so much they could tolerate, and Hitler had already pushed them way too far. Sometimes it was easier to embrace it, to become the monster rather than endure the agony of fighting it. It wasn't until after he'd won his independence that he found out England had spent some time more pirate than not, that it was part of why he'd disappeared for so long when he was growing up. America hadn't seen it happen, to England or anyone else, but he'd heard the stories and he was terrified it would happen to him. That someday he'd be the villain rather than the hero. No one liked to talk about times like that, be it they were too painful or to shameful.

    Briefly, in the beginning of the war, many of the axis had fallen into this. Only when the bloodshed became overwhelming were they able to come to their senses. One perk of being an aged country, America had decided, was that this had effect sooner. The younger you were, the easier it was to keep going full throttle, drunk on the frenzy of battle. One by one, the axis had come to their senses after the first year. While it meant the citizens were against what their military was doing, it also meant the personifications were open to the agony before them.

    But America wasn't in Berlin or Rome. As horrible as the entire mess was, there was something that had been eating him for the last six years.

    Initially, he and Japan had gotten along swimmingly. Sure there was culture shock, a clash, but the island nation was curious and the world superpower was fascinated. America’s base nature was made up of citizens originally from every other country in the world, after all. He prided himself on knowing all their roots, all their languages. When Japan had opened his doors, his citizens trickling to America’s west coast, he had been bound and determined to get to know this strange new friend. Sure China didn't get along with him, even getting into a war with him, but England the Netherlands got along with him well enough, why not him?

    To say it had been a rough start would be an understatement, but with some effort, and a lot of apologies from both parties, they nurtured a solid friendship. America liked Japan, and the island nation seemed to return the sentiment. He didn't even mind losing citizens to him, as some of the others had.

    Still, after Japan joined the axis, their contact had become limited. America’s boss had ordered him not to have any period, but then he'd never been good at following orders. That said, the Morse code message he got in December, 1941, was the first he'd gotten in weeks. America had been woken up by his personal line to the other countries. The sender had been Japan, and the message was two simple words: Forgive Me.

    He had tried to warn them. America had asked England why their bosses didn't listen to them, after he'd lost Lincoln and was in recovery from the Civil War. He'd tried warning them about other things too, the biggest example being what would happen if they tried to succeed. The older nation had looked very, very sad, but hadn't been able to provide much comfort. “Sometimes you have a good boss, one who listens. Most don't, though, I'm afraid. We're too much like our people.” America still wasn't sure what this meant, besides that no matter how hard he tried he hadn't been able to help. Pearl Harbor had been attacked even as he begged his boss to send out a warning, so at least his people would know to be alert.

    America had never felt something like that before. It wasn't something he ever wanted to feel again. Still, through the pain and bloodshed, he'd never hated Japan himself for it. The personification was unable to do anything to stop it, his bosses locking him away. He had no more control than Germany or Prussia. Not hating Japan ended up being harder than he thought, though. Between the brutality in the Pacific and propaganda, his citizens were turning on the country. However much they disliked the bosses of Italy and Germany, they hated Japan. For a while, racism ran rampant. His boss rounded up all the citizens with Japanese blood, sending them to isolation camps in the desert. Many of them, especially the children, had been born his citizens. Most adults were legal, simply trying to start a new life. America tried to argue on their behalf, but even he admitted he could have tried harder. He wanted to, he just....couldn't. They were his people too, but there were so many that hated them. Too many. They were outnumbered. For every child sent away, a hundred more were taught that 'a good Jap is a dead Jap'.

    Time had worn on. One year became two. Then three, then four. America hadn't thought anything could get anywhere near to what he'd felt seventy six years ago. Locked up in his own home, tied to a bed to keep from tearing himself apart. It had driven him insane, having two people crammed into his skull, fighting with a vicious bloodlust beyond anything he'd ever known before.

    It had almost been worse, being sane and capable yet unable to do enough. The war dragged on, and though they did make progress, it was far too slow in coming. More countries entered the war, adding to the discord and bloodshed worldwide. Russia had joined the mess the same year he had, though his major involvement had been provoked by Germany. It was one of the many testaments to the questionable mental state of Germany’s former boss. Russia had been eyeing his offer to formally join the axis until Germany's boss had invaded his territory. In hindsight, it was a good thing for the allies, but that didn't change the inevitable long term effects.

    The Combined Bomber a Offensive. D-Day. The Battle of the Philippine Sea. No matter how many divisive victories or battles he had, America still couldn't sleep without hearing the screams of his citizens. Russia's attempt to ease his pain, paired with an eerie smile, hadn't helped. “Don't worry, America. Soon you will not be able to feel their pain.” As bad as it was, America didn't want to not feel it anymore, didn't want to forget.

    The deaths of Hitler and Mussolini would have made him feel better, if he hadn't lost his own boss as well. He hadn't been the best boss, but that didn't make it any easier. By then, he just wanted it all to end.

    By then, America was left to focus his attention on Japan. Iwo Jima and Okinawa were invaded slowly, painfully, but eventually conquered. Tokyo, and sixty six other cities, were mercilessly bombed. Submarines cut off their resources. America watched as his military battered away at Japan from all sides, his own soldiers dropping at an unbearable rate even as Japan lost countless civilians.

    It was for these reasons his boss brought out a last resort. The idea originated from one of Hungary's people who had collaborated with one of Germany's. Both were very brilliant, but when they fled to his country, they brought something with them. Something that was both ingenious and horrifying. They had come to his country to keep it from the hands of people like Hitler, but now it seemed America would be using it himself. God help him.

    The idea had shaken America to the core. No country had ever taken such measures before, but then they hadn't had to. America knew what it would cost. He also knew what it would mean if they didn't. The war had gone on long enough. He'd lost too many already. He had wondered if he was catching what England had called the second wind haze. Something a country got when they'd been in a war too long. They got desperate, willing to do things beyond what they normally would to secure victory. It could be either good or bad. In America's case, part of him wondered if he was going too far even as he pitched in with the Manhattan project. He would do it, to win and end the war for good. But....would that make him the villain instead of a hero?

    Even as his boss debated over the matter, America received the first message from Japan in almost four years. This time, it was just one word. ‘Kaishakunin.’

    That one word had given him both a surge of relief, and a crushing sadness. Still, it meant the choice he'd made was the right one. He was halfway to see his boss to relay the message before he stopped himself.

    America knew what that word meant, understood the significance. His boss wouldn't. Knowing human tendencies, it would just slow things down even more. He would be suspicious, he would stop everything, suspecting a trap. Why did Japan want this to happen? What if it was a trick? What if the end result was far worse than the hundreds of thousands of body bags they were trying to avoid by choosing this route? The bureaucratic red tape would be endless. No. America had to keep this to himself. The wheels were already in motion, all he had to do was stand back and let it happen.

    Normally, America might have similar concerns, but not now. Not with this. He couldn't. Unlike his boss, he understood the true meaning of that word, the plea behind it.

    Kaishakunin. A duty to preserve the honor of one committing seppuku. Originally, the person chosen for such a position would have to be a master swordsman. Skilled enough to cut the neck to both kill the person quickly, but not behead them completely. To end the pain swiftly, so they wouldn't lose face and cry out, but leaving the head attached, both of which would preserve their honor.

    Honor. It all came down to honor. To sit and do nothing while his people died, his land systematically destroyed while his bosses refused to surrender, was both agonizing and dishonorable. At least that was how America assumed Japan was seeing it. The message only confirmed it. If written in plain English, the message probably would have read, 'Please stop me'.

    America had managed to make it back to the pacific, hitching rides on supply transports when his boss had refused to let him ride with the bombs. He was an advocate of owning up to your own actions, especially if they were on such a massive scale. He did take some comfort in knowing the pilot they'd chosen understood the weight of his task, at least. America’s only regret was not being able to do it himself.

    On Monday, August 6th, 1945, the first bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. They were not his citizens, but America could still hear their screams. Surely it would be enough, wouldn't it? Japan the personification of the people, the countries lifeblood, wanted it to end.

    No. It still wasn't enough. America couldn't understand how or why, but it wasn't. The nightmare dragged out for three more days before his boss made the call.

    Thursday, August 9th,1945. The second bomb descended onto Nagasaki.

   Finally, after six years, the war was over. As relieved as America felt after four years, he could imagine the relief of those who had been in it since the beginning. All that was left was for the humans to sort through the pieces. A treaty with Japan was signed on September 6th, 1945. Before the ink was dry, America was on a boat to the island nation. Japan would have had to escape his boss to send that message, but he would still be in Tokyo. The bombs would have crippled him. He would need help.

    America had been making his way through the ruins of Tokyo’s bombed areas for over a day now, trying to find Japan. He couldn't stay here for long, just until he found the older country and got him some help. As bad off as he was, Japan wasn't the only one to suffer. Besides that, America knew his choice to come here first would be frowned upon by the other countries, but he didn't care. If he bothered so much with their opinions, negative or otherwise, he wouldn't have fought for his independence.

    “Come on, Japan, unless you're buried somewhere you shouldn't be that hard to spot,” he muttered, climbing over what had once been a bathhouse.

    He was making his way farther down the street, or what was left of it, when something shifted by the rubble. America only glanced at it, having seen a lot of settling wreckage already, but then did a double take. Heart sinking, he picked his way around the remains of what had once been a small grocery shop, coming to kneel by the battered and broken figure propped on the remains the store's side wall.

    To say that Japan was in bad shape was like saying “Little Boy” had been a hand grenade. The remains of his navy uniform were torn, ragged, what wasn't scorched or burned was soaked in blood. Japan looked like a famine victim, a starved mess of broken skin and bones, cheeks and eyes sunken, ribs clearly visible through the shreds of his uniform shirt. Worse, many of them looked broken. It wasn't as dangerous as it was with humans, but it still wasn't good. America tried not to count just how many bones looked fractured or broken, some subtly, others glaringly so. Besides the ribs, the better part of Japan's fingers were bending in an unnatural way, his nose flattened against his face, both cheekbones shattered, his left forearm broken in two places, one leg fracture near the ankle, his head lolling in a way that clearly indicated a neck broken at least once. That wasn't even counting the hundreds of cuts and gashes, most of which looked bullet-inflicted. One particularly nasty gash on his forehead was still bleeding sluggishly, but it was no more a threat than the split lips.

    Perhaps the worst part were the burns. Every square inch of Japan's battered body was covered with them, angry red third degree burns. As though he'd been just close enough to the blast to not be incinerated.

    Swallowing tightly, America got to work, crouching next to the older nation and unslinging his backpack. He snapped Japan's spine back into place first, realigning the vertebrae in three places before getting to work on the rest of the bones. He managed to get almost all of them set properly before Japan stirred, eyes fluttering. Bones, at least, tended to heal faster than catastrophe-inflicted wounds would. They still might take a while, maybe as long as a human's bones, but still. At the very least, they'd start repairing enough to not slide back out of place again once set if you were careful. The rest of the wounds...America had no idea. They were wounds caused by the carnage to the country. It could be anywhere from days to years before Japan healed properly.

    "Stay still, buddy," America warned him, fishing his canteen from his pack.

    Japan parted split lips, croaking out an undecipherable sound through a bloody mouth.

    "Hang on a sec, chatterbox. Drink, then talk. What happened to sensing the mood and refraining from speaking?"

    Most of the first mouthful spilled down Japan's chin, but America was able to get a steady trickle of the liquid down his throat. Not too much, though, he wasn't sure just how long Japan had been here. Nation or not, if he drank too much too fast it would just come back up.

    Japan coughed roughly when America took away the canteen, setting it aside and pulling out the First Aid kit. He still planned on getting Japan to a relief station before moving on, but they had their hands full as it was, and he wanted to help what little he could.

    "America," Japan said, low voice ragged. The younger nation wasn't surprised to hear his native tongue slipping through his lips. Considering what he'd been through, it was amazing he was able to speak at all.

    "Yeah, I'm here buddy. Let's get you patched up. There's a relief station a few miles from here. There's plenty of wounded for you to blend in with if you need to lay low for a while."

    "No. Leave me here. Let them get help first."

    America cracked a smile. "You need as much help as your citizens do, Japan. Trust me." He got to work on the worst of the gashes, cleaning them as best he could and smearing antiseptic paste on the open wounds. He wanted to just dunk Japan into a tub of the stuff, but he only had two small tubes.

    The island nation was quiet for a long minute, keeping still as America worked. Then, voice as ragged as before, he said, "You did it. Thank you, my friend."

    Smiling bitterly, not meeting his eyes, America asked, "What are friends for, buddy. Just promise not to ask me to do that again."

    "I hope it will not come to that. My thanks remains."

    "How'd you get out, anyway?" America asked abruptly, desperate to change the subject. "Did they let you out?"

    "No. I escaped to send you the message. They could not spare the time or resources to find me."

    "How'd you do that?"

    Japan's form flickered. For a second, it became blurry, shifting. When it solidified again, he had become a she, with the same half-patched wounds and the same tattered uniform. The change only lasted a heartbeat before Japan fell back into his preferred form, breathing raggedly. The movement shifted his hair, and several clumps fluttered to the ground. America tried to ignore them, focusing on the wounds he could actually fix. The radiation would have to leave Japan's system in its own time.

    "Whoa, hey, don't strain yourself," America warned. "Your boss didn't know either? I thought it was just me."

    Despite everything, Japan's lips still twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Humans often do not see that which they do not want to see. Besides, we need to retain some secrets for ourselves. Ask any of them. It is also very useful. The guards were warned to keep a man imprisoned, they knew nothing of a woman."

    America chuckled, splinting the set fingers. "Yeah, same. That's how I got out here. No one questions a nurse coming out to a warzone."

    While the nations did have many secrets they kept from even their bosses, this one was one of the more open secrets. The few humans that knew either kept it to themselves or didn't believe it. While technically speaking the nations preferred one form or another, they could choose whichever one they took. They were the personification of nations, after all. Women were a very significant part of every nation, no matter what the citizens thought. America himself had never understood the details of it, just the general explanation that it allowed them to better represent their countries. Most of them simply preferred being male to female as a personal choice, but they could change as needed, or if there was a significant event in their country. For example, a number of them were stuck in their female forms during the women's suffrage movement. America hadn't minded, in fact she'd joined the fray and protested along with them, she'd just been a little annoyed she couldn't change back as she wanted to.

    "The rest of the axis. How are they? Why are you here, not there?"

    "Because they're not the ones I hit with two nuclear bombs," said America grimmly.

    "You cannot stay here, America."

    The younger nation sighed. "Relax, I ain't. I'm patching you up, getting you to the nearest human medical facility, then I'm pushing west. I figured you didn't want me coming here in the first place, but you need _some_ help whether you want to admit it or not. Besides....I don't think anyone else is in any shape to come here right now. That or their bosses won't let 'em."

    Japan eyed him. "Your boss would not let you, either."

    America smiled tightly. "He's still kinda new to the gig, he didn't know to put me on full out lockdown."

    Maybe it was because the island nation was truly drained, maybe it was because he'd noted some time ago that America was one of the most stubborn nation's he'd encountered, but for what it was worth Japan stopped protesting after that. He revered to 'refrain from speaking' mode, not even complaining as America tended the worst of the wounds.

    Only when he was satisfied, and certain the bones had been set long enough he could risk moving his patient, did America pack up the supplies. "Okay. Let's get you out of here."

    "You do not-

    "Yeah, well, I am anyway. So shut up and let me help you my way. I'm done being your kaishakunin."

    Japan resumed keeping his mouth shut, only wincing as America gently lifted him from the rubble. The younger nation picked his way out of the rubble, carrying him back out to the street before setting off the way he'd come. If he kept a steady pace, America was sure he could make it to one of the relief stations before nightfall. From there he could make his way back to the nearest airfield and catch a ride west. His plan was to make a stopover in China, then move on to Germany. North Italy and Romano might be roughed up, but there wasn't much he could do, and he knew for a fact that they were tougher than they let on. His real concern was for Germany and Prussia. He'd never experienced it himself, but living under a dictatorship was never easy to recover from. Well, he had been under England, but it wasn't quite the same. He'd been a colony who decided he'd had enough and wanted his freedom, _real_ freedom. Germany was a long established country who had an official made his boss, who then turned into a monster that chafed against the people, what made him a country. Only fear had kept the citizens in line, for the most part. Many of those who didn't make up the powerful minority hadn't agreed with his principles.

    "If the need returns, America, can I rely on you again?"

    At first, America was about to say no, but he hesitated. Yes it was bad, yes he hated to do it, but at the end of the day, if he had the chance to rewind time....he'd only do it again. He hated it, but he would. It was for the best. For both his people and Japan's. And at the end of the day, they were all that mattered. This was their way, as brutal as it could often be. They were the personifications of their people, they represented them, they _were_ them. It didn't matter who ruled them, what their newspapers said, or what was published as fact. They were them, the true personifications of their citizens, their people. For better or worse, until the day their country was dissolved and forgotten, their citizens scattered, and they themselves gave up.

    "I....yeah. Yeah, you can."


End file.
